


Compromise

by Stark



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Any Two Villains, Business Partnership Gone Bad, M/M, Missing Scene, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mutual Manipulation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark/pseuds/Stark
Summary: There is a war coming, and Percival Graves must decide how much he is willing to compromise for the greater good of wizardkind.Spoilers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene, set between the International Conference meeting and Newt's interrogation. Because that's clearly the point when Graves totally lost it.
> 
> Originally, this was a half-serious gift for a friend inspired by all the fannish speculation about Graves's and Grindelwald's Significant Haircuts. I'm surprised that it didn't really get jossed, and only needed minor edits to fit into the movie.

 

Percival Graves wasn't a vain man, not really. Confident in his skills, certainly, in his looks, possibly, but by no means vain.

And yet he found himself standing at the edge of the anti-Apparition zone surrounding Grindelwald's hideout and examining his new haircut in a hastily conjured mirror. His reflection wavered a bit as he fixed a few stray hairs tousled by the wind.

The undercut looked almost as pristine as the day he had stepped out of the barbershop; he had to admit the No-Maj had done a really good job. Nobody at work had commented on this sudden change in appearance, but it hardly surprised him. His no-nonsense reputation didn't exactly make him the most approachable person in MACUSA. Sure, he might have noticed an appreciative nod from the president, but he didn't really expect compliments from anyone, not even from the usual office sycophants or wide-eyed young secretaries, if he had cared to surround himself with either. And certainly not from Miss Goldstein, not anymore.

Graves turned up his collar against the cold December air, fixed his scarf, and with a flick of wand, he let the reflection disappear.

No, that wasn't vanity. Yet he almost wished it had been.

He approached the inconspicuous house with newfound hesitation. It was hard to predict Grindelwald's moods on a good day; even more so now, with the senator’s death and Newton Scamander's unfortunate arrival unwittingly pushing their plans into motion sooner than intended. Normally, Graves would be glad for that turn of events — he had been spoiling for that particular fight for a long time now — but there was something about recent events that made him restless.

The ritual of entering Grindelwald's base of operations was familiar by now. He passed through the shimmering layer of a No-Maj-repelling charm, and shuddered. The chilly air was all but vibrating with potent magic, making his hair stand up on end. After his exhausting day, the sensation was even more overwhelming than usual, but not necessarily unpleasant. He could almost taste Grindelwald's raw power surrounding him, lingering in the air like ozone after a storm.

But the storm was yet to come.

With each step, he felt his wand growing hotter in his tight grip. By the time he reached the door and raised his hand to open it, the physical tension eased, but the sense of apprehension persisted.

The door opened easily under his hand. Grindelwald was probably already expecting him in his study, but before moving inside, Graves casted one last glance at the mirror hanging in the corridor. Would his accomplice even notice something as mundane as a haircut? He doubted the wizard had taken an interest in him because of his looks — his skills and position had been what he had sought, that much was obvious. But there must have been a reason why he had made sure his corruption was complete, leaving him no room to back out.

For a moment, he felt naïve; childish, even. Despite all the authority Grindelwald carried himself with, Graves had firmly decided he wouldn't accept the role of the man's subordinate, and yet, his resolve faltered with every day as he let himself be dragged into this illicit affair.

It was too late for second thoughts, though, both for him and their cause.

 

***

 

“What took you so long?” Grindelwald asked in lieu of a greeting.

He didn't even look up from the books and papers covering every inch of his desk, but Graves refused to feel discouraged by this cold welcome. He summoned a chair and sat on the other side of the desk, not bothering to take off his coat.

“I arrested the infamous Mr. Scamander tonight. One of my Aurors, too,” he said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small package. “The ingredients you asked for. I'm still working on getting some of them, but it should be a matter of—“

Grindelwald interrupted him with an impatient wave of hand. The package escaped Graves's grip, flew a couple of feet, and landed on the top of a pile of old tomes. It seemed that it wasn't its contents that interested the other man right now, though.

“Have you talked to him?”

“Scamander? Yes, obviously,” Graves replied, surprised. “The interrogation is postponed until tomorrow, but he seemed to have plenty to say already.”

“And?”

Now he finally had Grindelwald's full attention. The man's eyes were fixed on him, but his expression was unreadable.

Regardless of how important his position at MACUSA was to their cause, they rarely talked about details of his job. It wasn't just because Grindelwald wasn't particularly concerned with his more mundane investigations. Yes, he wasn't the sort of person who'd feign interest just to humor his lover, but Graves himself didn't really want to share that aspect of his life. It didn't feel right, somehow, as if he was taking his betrayal a step too far. Besides, separating these two worlds gave him a sense of much needed privacy — an illusion, possibly, but a comforting one nonetheless.

This sudden curiosity surprised him, but he realized he didn't find it unwelcome. He relaxed in his chair, despite Gellert's intense gaze set upon him, and tugged at his scarf to loosen it.

“Well, he claims to be innocent, but that's hardly a surprise.”

“Have you asked him about Dumbledore?”

“I didn’t have a chance, but I read his file.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Not much, to be honest. Confirmed what we already knew about him. He was expelled from Hogwarts for endangering—“

“It is Hogwarts,” Grindelwald interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “I doubt it was anything serious enough to be worthy of our attention. The question is, why would Albus get involved in this?”

“Well, for one, he was his teacher,” Graves said, deciding not to comment on the way Grindelwald switched to using Dumbledore's first name. “I figure it comes with the job description.”

“And that's all?”

He sighed. “Apparently Dumbledore believed it had been an unfortunate accident, and that Scamander deserved a second chance. When Scamander was expelled, he helped him secure a job at the British Ministry of Magic. From what I read in his testimony, I figure Dumbledore was interested in his research and didn't want him to waste his potential.”

He was choosing his wording carefully, determined to keep his tone matter-of-fact. Regardless of how slowly news travelled across the ocean, it was his job to know it, and he had more than one reason to keep an ear out for rumors about Grindelwald. Besides, it wasn't hard to notice that the man’s interest in Dumbledore's involvement was personal.

“Interesting,” Grindelwald just said.

“Well, will you need anything else from me tonight?”

The hint of invitation was there, despite his casual tone. It had been nearly a week since their last meeting, and Graves realized he desperately needed a distraction; anything to keep his mind off the pressure of his ever-expanding responsibilities. It was most tempting to just reach across the desk and pull him into a long kiss — and yet, he hesitated.

He was by no means a shy person, but even now, months since the beginning of their affair, he still felt uncomfortable with initiating any sort of physical contact with Gellert. It wasn't fear of rejection — the very thought was laughable — or even the fact that they were both men. No, there was something in his lover’s demeanor that made Graves reluctant to display any trace of affection, as if letting him know how mutually enjoyable their liaisons were was giving him another inch of unfair advantage.

“Tell me, what is he like?”

“What do you mean, what is he like?”

Grindelwald leant over the desk, resting his forearms on a pile of abandoned papers in front of him. He stared at Graves, making no attempt to conceal his curiosity.

“Scamander. What's your impression of the man?”

“He's barely a man,” Graves replied, trying not to let his irritation show, then shrugged. “Young. Enthusiastic. Naïve.”

“Handsome?”

He frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“I'm not asking you about your personal opinion, if that's what you're worried about. I want an objective assessment.”

“I don't see how it's relevant.”

“Good looks can open many doors,” Grindelwald said. “Don't tell me you of all people don't know that.”

He wasn't sure if the compliment was supposed to come out backhanded, or if only the insult was intended at all, but the fact that Grindelwald thought that this particular insinuation carried any sting amused him.

“Visit our headquarters in New York some day and judge it for yourself,” he said. “Or wait until his face is on the front page of every newspaper in America. But since you insist, he’s apparently good-looking enough to catch the attention of one of our former Aurors. What’s more important, though, he seems really dedicated to his research. Almost obsessively so. Yes, I can see how he could’ve become the teacher’s pet.”

“Albus Dumbledore is no ordinary teacher.”

“Why don't you ask the man himself, then?” he asked, irritated.

From the way Grindelwald's shoulders tensed, Graves immediately knew he overstepped. It was too late to take the words back — and he realized he didn't really want to.

“If I could ask Albus Dumbledore about it,” Grindelwald replied slowly, “there would be no point in involving you in any of this.”

The disdain in his remark was well worth discovering a crack in the man's façade, Graves thought.

“And yet here I am,” he said.

There was a hint of amusement in Grindelwald's voice as he replied, “Here you are, indeed.”

“What are you suggesting, then?”

“I need you to find out the real nature of their relationship.”

“Relationship,” he repeated. “Is that what this is about?”

He couldn't believe that the reason for this sudden interest in Newt Scamander was so clichéd. When he had first inquired him about the British wizard, and Grindelwald insisted he should take Scamander in and talk to him about Dumbledore, Graves had been merely frustrated that the man had the nerve to interfere with his job. He had put his annoyance aside for the sake of the investigation — he didn't want to lose a possibly useful lead because of a power struggle. Besides, his lover could have had his reasons for suspecting that his British friend was also recruiting an army. Even if Scamander's involvement seemed unlikely to him, he decided it was worth looking into.

The thought that Grindelwald tried to use his position to keep tabs on his old flames was... humiliating, to say the least.

“Let's just say I have good reasons to keep an eye on Dumbledore's affairs.”

“And how exactly do you think I will justify this line of investigation?”

“You're the Auror here, Graves.” Grindelwald leant back in his chair. “The Director of Magical Security, in fact. I didn't realize you needed a lesson in interrogation techniques.”

“The president is watching the case very closely,” he explained, trying not to lose his patience. “What you're asking of me could place me in a very uncomfortable position. Besides, Dumbledore is none of our concern right now.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

“I'm not risking my reputation over this.”

For a moment, Grindelwald seemed taken aback by his refusal, but his surprise quickly gave way to a mocking grin.

“Is this really where you draw the line?”

“It depends,” Graves said calmly. “Is it where you draw yours?”

There was a noise when Grindelwald's chair scraped the floor, unpleasantly loud in the small room. He stood up, and circled the desk. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if calculated to intimidate him, but Graves didn't reach for his wand. He didn't move even when the other man walked past him, so close that his hip nearly brushed his shoulder, then stopped.

“I think,” he heard from behind him, “that it is far too late for you to start worrying about your reputation.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

Gellert stood right behind him, unnervingly close, trapping him between the desk and his looming body. Graves tensed, ready for a fight, but he kept still, not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction of seeing the effect his words had on him. Would Grindelwald really try to do something so foolish?

“Do I have to, Percival?” The chair creaked as the man leant over him. “I thought you believed in our cause.”

“If you're asking me to—“

“I'm only asking you to gain some perspective,” Grindelwald said impatiently. “That's the problem with you Americans. You all seem to forget there is a world beyond your backyard.” He removed his hand from the seat’s backrest to squeeze Graves’s shoulder. It took him all of his will not to flinch at the sudden touch. Was it was meant to be a placatory gesture? It felt more like a warning. “And it’s not just Great Britain. What we achieve here will shake the foundations of the entire magical world, but even this is only a beginning.”

He forced himself not to back away when he felt Grindelwald’s hand moving to his neck. It could have been almost mistaken for a caress, but the pressure on his throat was just a bit too strong to be accidental. Gellert’s palm lingered over his Adam’s apple for a moment, but when Graves didn’t seem to acknowledge the threat, he  slid his hand lower, hooking his fingers under his tie, and loosened it slowly, inch by inch. Soon, the collar of his shirt opened, the buttons unfastening as if of their own volition. He barely resisted the urge to lean his head back.

“There are many powerful people who’d try to stop us. Including Albus Dumbledore, yes.” He leant forward, his breath unbearably hot on Graves’s exposed skin. “Don't think for one moment,” he whispered right in his ear, “that we can afford to be shortsighted now.”

With a final tug, he removed his tie. Despite himself, Graves shuddered.

“Think of what we can do, together. The new order that we can build. Do you really think your reputation”—he all but spat out the word—“is more important than that?”

Graves returned the kiss when it finally came, as forceful and urgent as always, glad that Gellert didn’t wait for his answer. He wasn’t sure he had one.

 

***

 

He finished buttoning up his shirt and looked around, searching for his tie. It lay discarded on the desk, half buried under a pile of books. He raised his hand to summon it, but before he had a chance to mutter the incantation, the tie already slipped from under the papers, and flew right into his palm.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t turn to look at Grindelwald; he decided the discomfort of feeling his eyes on his back was preferable to facing the man. Seeing his undoubtedly self-satisfied smile was the last thing he needed right now. He focused on his necktie instead, tying it with a couple of well-practiced moves. There was no reason to put it on now — it was late, and he was heading home anyway — but he was grateful for the distraction.

“What’s the rush, anyway?”

“I still have some paperwork to catch up with.”

“Married to the job, huh?” Gellert asked, amused, then added, “Just remember what we discussed today.”

His firm voice left no room for protest, as if Graves’s compliance was a given. Was the man arrogant enough to believe that he had managed to seduce him into changing his opinion? He wasn’t sure if he found this notion more amusing or offensive — but there was a part of him that wondered if that was exactly what had happened.

“Of course.”

Grindelwald either didn’t notice, or decided to ignore his terse tone.

“Find whatever you can about what Dumbledore is up to,” he said to his back. “Don’t go easy on Scamander. The boy might still turn out to be useful. And if you really feel that the president’s involvement might be an issue—“

“I’ll take care of that.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh, I don’t doubt you will be able to provide the necessary distraction.”

The implication was barely concealed, but Graves refused to acknowledge it — even despite the fact that this time, the remark had really stung. Months ago, he had sworn to himself that his allegiance to Grindelwald wouldn’t come at the cost of his integrity; he wasn’t sure that was possible anymore.

He put on his vest, then his jacket, and finally looked up at his reflection in the mirror. It was a bit easier to look himself in the eye now that he had made himself presentable again, but it hardly helped him to ease his doubts. He knew he had no choice but to accept the compromise, at least for now, when so many of his plans still depended on Grindelwald’s involvement.

Working on regaining his dignity could wait until his partner was no longer useful. The sooner the moment came, the better.

“I’ll let you know when I find out something more,” he said, turning to face Gellert.

He was already dressed, but still sprawled on the couch, looking as complacent as Graves had imagined.

“I’m so glad we came to an understanding, Percival.”

Graves just nodded. On any other day, he’d ignore Gellert’s condescending tone; tonight, it made his blood boil. 

“You should know there aren't many people who I would entrust with such an important task,” Grindelwald continued. “I hope you don’t make me regret choosing you.”

“Well, I don’t think you have any other options.”

For a moment, the other man just stared at him, as though he was struggling to absorb his words — or to believe he had actually said them aloud, the latter sentiment almost shared by Graves himself. Still, he wouldn’t take his words back, given the chance. If Gellert wanted to put their disagreement in the past, he was happy to oblige him, but he decided it was high time he had reminded his partner just how much the success of his mission depended on Graves siding with him. 

But then, much to his surprise, Gellert smiled.

“It does seem so, doesn’t it?”

He sounded as if he was trying to humor him, and maybe under other circumstances, it would be enough for Graves to forget about their argument. Not tonight, though.   

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, then,” he said, reaching for his coat.

“You know,” Grindelwald said all of a sudden, “you look somewhat different. Is it the hair?”

He looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“Your hair. Is that a new haircut?”

The question sounded innocent enough, but still, he felt like a fool.

“I changed barbers, and the new one got overly enthusiastic with the razor,” he said, staring at his reflection in the mirror to avoid Gellert’s eyes. “I guess I still need to find a different one.”

He shrugged on his coat, and headed to the door, not bothering with fastening the buttons. He was reaching to open the door when he heard, “I’d keep it, if I were you. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” he replied automatically. He didn’t think he agreed anymore, though.

When he turned the doorknob, it didn’t budge. He tried again to no avail, then let his hand fall to his wand.

“Yes,” Gellert said, “I guess I will keep the hair.”


End file.
